Guard and Witness
by Asphalt Angel
Summary: The alchemists are coming to Ishbal. The war is about to reach a turning point. And a sniper is standing guard on the perimeter, watching them come... Roy, Riza, and a whole lot of action. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Angst and violence

Summary: The alchemists arrive at the front.

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist isn't mine… I'd add too much fire…

A/N: Holy Shnikes! Angel's writing a chapter fic! Well, yes. Yes, I am... Kudos to everyone whose reviews encouraged me to try it… So, yeah, this is my take on the Ishbal War. History shows us that most wars, at some point, reach a stand off, which is what I imagined when I began writing. I saw these two forces, after years of bloodshed, unable to move each other, and the alchemists coming in to turn the tide. I saw the situation escalating from there. And I saw Roy and Riza caught up in it- young, inexperienced, perhaps not so confident (or arrogant) as we'll see them later... This is the beginning. This event that shapes them… And I hope you enjoy reading!

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**Time: 0430 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, two months, twenty-two days**

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Riza carefully pins her new rank insignia on her uniform. The brightly polished brass looks as out of place on the dirty fabric as the new title does in front of her name.

Sergeant Hawkeye.

It's her, but it's not her. Or, at least, it shouldn't be her. It's been less than a year since she graduated from basic training; by all rights, she shouldn't be anything more than a private.

Rapid field promotions are becoming commonplace in the units deployed to Ishbal because the chain of command keeps being shot to pieces. She has received two of them now- the first when she was transferred from the rear guard to the front lines, and the second last night when the previous sergeant died.

The soldiers she bunks with still call her "corporal" and she isn't accustomed enough to her new title to realize she should correct them. When she does realize it, she's too tired to really care anyway. There has been fighting every day this week, and water is on short rations because some of the pipelines were damaged.

It's her shift for guard duty along the perimeter of the encampment. She shoulders her rifle and makes her way carefully between rows of tents and makeshift buildings. Her station is several meters out, on one of the many sand dunes separating them from the Ishbalans.

She doubts that whoever coined the phrase "it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it" ever had to lie on their stomach in the hot desert sand, peering down the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle for hours on end. And she's quite certain they never had to do it after two days without a shower or a fresh change of clothes.

Otherwise, they'd have been able to come up with a much more creative phrase.

It isn't just dirty. It's foul, odious, disgusting, unsanitary, and countless other adjectives she likes to tick off to pass the time.

Ruefully, she wishes she'd been given another talent... Sewing, maybe, or playing the piano- something that would please her aunts back home.

But, no. Her father had wanted a son, and her mother had wanted to a prodigy, and tradition had beaten out a path before her in six successive pairs of combat boots. Even her own genetic code joined the conspiracy by giving her the rare 20/20 sight that left the military practically salivating.

And so she lays there, courtesy of both nurture and nature, out on that damn sand dune with the sun beating down relentlessly on her back. About a half mile out to the east is the curtain of smoky haze that marks the extreme front. If she squints, she can just make out the rows of barbed wire and barricades, and the crumbling Ishbalan city beyond.

There doesn't seem to be much activity there now. She can still hear the boom of heavy artillery fire, but it's slow and infrequent- indicative of routine shelling.

The push to the city limits was costly, and the lines are still undermanned. Even with the reinforcements- in the form of State Alchemists- that are supposedly arriving today, she imagines it's going to be difficult to advance any further.

She's heard some of her comrades call them human weapons, and claim they can end the war in a matter of days, but she isn't about to get her hopes up that high.

She spots their convoy shortly after sunrise, a black line of armored transports winding their way across the desert.

And she freezes suddenly, muscles tensing, as she spots two figures low-crawling across the sand. Signalmen for a larger force, she knows, waiting to strike.

But she doesn't give them the chance.

Two quick shots take them down, and alert the camp to the ambush. The trucks in the convoy skid to a halt, almost colliding, and the other snipers on guard duty open fire as more Ishbalans swarm from hiding.

She twists her body and tries to get them in her own sights, but before she can, a ball of fire rips across the sand.

It takes her a moment to realize that it came from the convoy.

The young corporal nearest to her on the perimeter swears violently and grumbles, "That got 'em. Damn alchemists, stealing all the glory."

She nods absently in agreement, wondering how a man can have the power to shoot fire that way. A moment later, it occurs to her that it would be a horrible way to die, but she swiftly shakes that thought from her mind.

A group of soldiers comes up to relieve them of the guard, and she gratefully hands over her position to another sergeant- Vachel, she remembers, he was promoted just before she was.

He gives her a hand up, chuckling as her knees pop, then lies in the sand she's vacated.

"Nice shooting, Hawkeye." he tosses over his shoulder.

She nods briefly to acknowledge the compliment, and starts back down the dunes. She plans to head for her tent, but movement on the drill ground- the center of camp- catches her attention.

The alchemists are there, unloading from the trucks that brought them. She notices a dark-haired young man, wearing the cleanest uniform she's seen since her training days, shaking hands with a rather fierce-looking colonel. Others come up, clapping him on the back, and offering him praises.

"Great fireworks show, Mustang," says one.

So this is the alchemist who can make fire. Curiously, she moves closer to get a better look him.

He looks far to composed, she thinks, for a soldier who's just had his first battle- and first kill- but the muscles bunched up at his jaw give him away. He maintains his poise with gritted teeth until he is dismissed. Then he salutes stiffly and all but runs off the drill ground.

She follows him, covertly, because new soldiers are apt to do stupid things when they're still learning to cope, but he doesn't make it far. He stumbles between a row of tents, sinks to his knees, and vomits in the sand.

Riza isn't surprised; she's seen a lot of rookies react this way, at first, when faced with the realities of war. She ignores the distressed corner of her mind that tells her this is the way people ought to react to it- numbing oneself is the only way to survive.

The alchemist coughs and spits, and takes a large gulp from his canteen. A mistake, of course- it all comes back up.

She turns and leaves before he notices her, not wanting to embarrass him. After all, it's only natural to feel shocked after taking someone's life.

The distressed voice in her head nags at her again, reminding her how long it's been since she ceased to be shocked by anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: More angst and more violence

Summary: Introductions and lessons

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist still isn't mine…

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**Time: 2019 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, two months, twenty-two days**

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The alchemist colonel, whose name she learns is Gran, all but takes over the camp in a matter of hours. He has an attitude to match his appearance, and the handful of high-ranking officers who have been running operations at the front are too exhausted to do anything but nod and bow to this newcomer's whim.

Riza has already had to meet with him twice. He summoned her shortly after she came off guard duty in order to speak with her about the ambush, and recalled her later with the idea that someone in the camp had leaked information of the alchemists' coming to the Ishbalans.

He seemed almost disappointed when she told him it was more likely, judging by their lack of firepower, that one of their lookouts had simply spotted the convoy on the road.

But he is willing to allow her a shower as reward for a job well done, so she puts aside her misgivings about his temper. She knows that's exactly what he wants her to do- positive reinforcement for hard work instills loyalty and ensures good morale- but, standing under the spray of water, rinsing layers of grime from her skin, she doesn't care.

She still has to wear her old uniform when she's through, but with the assurance that the alchemists will have the pipelines repaired shortly, and the water rationing will end.

She pauses before buttoning her shirt so she can examine her right shoulder; the skin is discolored from bruise upon bruise- recoil from her rifle. The medics will give her an earful when they see it, but fortunately she has orders to report to Major Mustang, so that unpleasantry can be avoided for the moment.

Apparently, her superiors find it fitting that she be assigned to the major's command, since both of them are being hailed heroes of the day. She has no objection, of course; her job is to serve, even under a green officer who hasn't yet developed a stomach for warfare.

She finds him in his tent, unpacking his equipment, and the corners of her lips twitch when she realizes he's doing it exactly as they were taught in training- shirts on one shelf, pants on the next, socks and underwear in the drawers. Everything about him screams new soldier- from his cleanliness, to his bad haircut, to the sunburn on the back of his neck- and yet she already knows he's quick and deadly on the battlefield. It's quite the contradiction.

She clears her throat to get his attention. "May I make a suggestion, sir?"

He jumps and whirls around, swiftly schooling his startled features into blankess. "Ah, Sergeant Hawkeye," he says bruskly, "thank you for being prompt. Have a seat if you can find one."

Riza steps around him and perches on the edge of his footlocker. "If you organize everything you need for a day in one pile," she advises, "instead of seperating things by type, it's easier to get ready, sir. Also, sleep in as much of it as you can stand, so there's less to put on if you have to be up in a hurry."

"Happens often, does it?" He asks, a catch in his voice betraying his nervousness.

"Enough to warrant the change in organizational regulations, sir," she answers with a shrug.

"Well, damn," he says, smirking. "I know I'm in another world if the military regs actually change!"

She gives him a slight smile in return, indulging his attempt to be lighthearted- not that it'll really make him feel better. "The brass decided they liked survival more than decorum, sir."

He chuckles and begins rearranging his things as she suggested. She watches him pull a pair of white gloves out of his pocket, and at first she thinks they're parade gloves- which are a silly thing to have in a warzone- until she sees the strange markings embroidered on the backs with red thread.

He obviously notices her interest because he explains, "They're alchemical arrays." He holds them out for her inspection.

She takes them sheepishly, running her fingers over the soft fabric. "I didn't mean to stare, sir." She hasn't seen anything so pristinely white in ages.

He dismisses her apology with a casual wave. "It's all right. The arrays are what allow me to... well, you saw what they allow me to do." He takes the gloves back and sets them on top of his clothing. "A friend gave them to me just before I left. He said I couldn't waste time drawing arrays whenever I needed to, and he didn't want me cutting them into my hands with hot ink, so- don't give me that look, a lot of alchemists do it."

She duckes her head embaressedly; she didn't realize her disgust was showing.

He cocks his head curiously. "You've never served with State Alchemists before, have you? No, wait, of course you haven't. You were deployed right after you finished training. How long ago was it?"

"A year, sir." She picks up the pistol he's left on the floor, and begins loading the bullets.

"Have you been at the front the whole time?" He asks.

"No, sir, about six months." She sets the pistol on the table by his bunk, along with some spare ammo.

"Six months," he repeats softly, sounding a bit awed. "You seem to be taking it well enough. I haven't been here a day, and it's already grating on my nerves. The noise, mostly, I think, the shelling... and they tell me this is a quiet day. "

She jerks her head up in surprise. That's quite an admission for a new officer to make to a subordinate he hardly knows.

As though reading her mind, he laughs and says, "I think I can trust you, Hawkeye. You already saved my life today."

She shrugs dismissively. "I just did my job, sir."

"Yes, and you did it well," he replies, twisting around so he is seated on the floor, facing her. "Are you saying that I can't trust you?"

"No, sir," she begins hastily, "I meant that I- " she breaks of, glaring, because he's caught her and he knows it. His dark eyes glitter triumphantly.

She shakes her head and has to smile. "You can trust me, sir. And-" there's the voice in the back of her head again, protesting what she's about to say to him- "Sir?" he nods- "It does get easier."


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: More angst and more violence, extremely minor Ep. 25 reference

Summary: The Ishbalans attack

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist still isn't mine…

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**Time: 0100 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, two months, twenty-three days**

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The explosions begin while Riza is sleeping. In a flash, she and her bunkmates are on their feet, holstering pistols, shouldering rifles, and tugging on their combat boots. The process is automatic, and doesn't take more than a few seconds. She is the first out of the tent, gun at the ready, rapidly assessing the situation.

One of the supply buildings is in flames, and there isn't enough water in the stores to put it out. Rather than trying, the soldiers are taking up defensive positions along the perimeter, and she sprints out to join them.

They fire off flares first, and in the sudden flash of light, she can see the enemy forces hurriedly diving for cover. Gunshots are exchanged, and another building, near the first, is blasted apart, sending shrapnel in all directions.

There was a time when the Ishbalans couldn't successfully carry out a bombing raid, but anyone who gets desperate enough will figure out how to make something explode. And they've had seven years now to practice the art of war.

"Flares, to the left!" Someone shouts. "Don't let them flank us!"

Another flash illuminates the area- not a flare, but an alchemical reaction- and the ground itself erupts beneath the Ishbalan bombers. Those who can still move after the quake begin running to regroup with the main attack force, still carrying loads of their homemade dynamite.

Riza searches frantically for Major Mustang, finds him raining down fire the way the soldiers around him are raining bullets, and shouts at him to aim for the bombers. Understanding, he snaps his left hand, and the flames lance out toward their new target.

The undetonated explosives ignite, the men scream, and then they are enveloped in a tremendous fireball. Terrified, the remaining Ishbalans retreat, and a huge cheer goes up throughout the camp.

Riza catches Mustang's eye and they exchange hard smiles.

Colonel Gran immediately begins to issue orders. Three of his alchemists are sent to repair the damaged buildings, and the medics are brought out to tend to the casualties.

The Ishbalans are fleeing north, rather than east toward their besieged city, but Gran orders a unit up to the extreme front anyway. Then he tells Mustang and another alchemist- a skinny, stringy-haired man whom he calls Crimson- to take a detachment of troops out in pursuit of their attackers.

"Flush them out of whatever hole they're hiding in!" He bellows at them as they set off, and they answer with a determined cheer.

He's good at making soldiers work, Riza decides, breaking into a jog to keep pace with her comrades.

Mustang takes point and she automatically follows. Moving silently in tandem, they cover a considerable distance with no sign of the Ishbalans, and then- without warning- the crack of gunfire shatters the calm.

She immediately drops behind a patch of low desert bushes, pulling the major down with her despite his startled protests. Hurriedly, she scans the dim horizon for the telltale gleam of metal. She finds it and grimly brings her rifle to her shoulder.

Mustang grabs her arm. "Hawkeye, wait! Let me-"

"Stay down, sir," she cuts him off, popping up to take her shot.

Return fire comes almost instantly, from two locations, and she hisses as the bullets whiz past her. She waits a moment, then goes up for another exchange. She hits the first sniper, but her second shot goes wide.

A burning pain tears through her arm and she jerks back, swearing.

Mustang hauls her out of his way, snaps twice, and the remaining shooter crumples, body engulfed in the flames.

"Well, now they definitely know we're coming," Riza says through gritted teeth, clutching at her wounded arm.

"Damnit, Hawkeye, the hell were you thinking!" Mustang snarls, dropping down beside her to examine the injury. It's only a graze, but it's painful, particularly when he tears a strip of cloth from his uniform and wraps it- none to gently- around her bicep to stop the bleeding. "You should know better than to take a risk like that!"

"No, sir, you should!" She answers sharply, snatching her arm away from his grasp. "Due respect, but the military can't afford you being taken out by some pot shot, _Major_!" She emphasizes his rank to remind him who is more expendable.

He makes an exasperated noise and shoves his gloved hands in her face. "I have these! You have a gun! Who do you think is more at risk here?"

She starts to respond, but a silky voice interrupts her.

"Oh, let her do her duty, Flame. She kills them so beautifully."

It's the other alchemist, Crimson, grinning at her in a way that makes her shudder. He's come up with the rest of the soldiers, who are doing their best to pretend they aren't listening.

Mustang's face flushes an angry red, and he curtly orders them all to keep moving.

They find a makeshift outpost half-hidden in a sand dune, but the skirmish with the two shooters must have allowed the Ishbalans enough time to escape. Their footprints scatter off in all directions, making continued pursuit impossible.

Riza resists the urge to tell the major that if he'd held off the fireworks, the enemy might not have been so inclined to run; it's too late to make a difference now, and it isn't worth holding onto the frustration. So instead she calls for his attention and simply suggests they turn around and head for camp.

On their return march they find the bodies. The first is a mess of blood and grey matter where its face used to be- one more kill to add to her tally. The second is a hunk of charred flesh and blackened bones, but enough of its head is remaining to reveal smooth cheeks and wide, staring eyes- young eyes. She hears Mustang's breath catch in his throat when he sees it.

"Shit, it's just a kid," he whispers shakily, unable to turn away for the gory scene.

"The Ishbalans can't afford to be selective about who they press into service, sir," she says frankly, hoping he hears the unspoken command to pull himself together- at least in front of the troops.

Apparently, he does, for he straightens quickly and clears his throat. "Quite true, Sergeant. And even the young ones think I'm a perversion of god, after all."

Nods and grim chuckles meet that statement, and they move out again.

Crimson is very chatty about the whole affair, going over details of the fighting with anyone who will listen. Riza has seen a few soldiers react this way before, drunk off their own power, but never with quite the same exuberance. Mustang, on the other hand, walks in beside her in silence, head bowed and eyes so vacant that she doubts he's even registering the surroundings.

They reach the camp and he dismisses the soldiers with a tired wave and a command that they get some rest.

Riza doesn't budge, but when he turns to regard her with those empty eyes, she finds that she doesn't know what to say to him.

Sighing, she raises an arm to salute, but he catches her by the wrist and shakes his head.

"Sir?" she says worriedly, uncomfortable with the contact. This is no way for a superior officer to act.

"It's raining," he mumbles, and she wonders if he's lost his senses. But he brings his free hand up to wipe his eyes, and she understands what he means. "How can it possibly get easier?" He asks softly.

She shrugs her shoulders, fumbling with the words, "It just- you just- and…" She sighs helplessly and tries again, "They shoot back, sir."

Some soldiers cling to patriotism, and others to racism, but she has that simple truth. The Ishbalans shoot back.

"So they do," Mustang whispers. His fingers move from her wrist to her upper arm, inspecting the ragged bandage. "Get that checked out before returning to duty."

She resists making a face. "Yes, sir." The medics are really going to chew her out now.

He walks her to her tent and then continues on toward his own, and she stands outside, watching, until he disappears.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Angst, violence, and Kimbley

Summary: Kimbley gains a following

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist still isn't mine…

A/N: Reviewers, thank you so much! Notes for you at the bottom of the chapter. And the rest of you readers, feel free to click the review button and leave me love! Hehehehe… So, anyways, where are we? Ah yes, the alchemists have come, the stage has been set, and we're about to meet a few more familiar faces. Enjoy the read!

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**Time: 1237 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, two months, twenty-seven days**

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The Crimson Alchemist's name is Kimbley. He has arrays tattooed on the palms of his hands, and he uses them to literally turn humans into bombs. Ever since the night of the raid, Colonel Gran has been sending him and his troops out hunting for more Ishbalan hideouts.

Riza learns all this from Vachel, who's been assigned as Kimbley's sergeant. He comes in each night caked in dust and blood, and seldom speaks about the work he's done.

Apparently, though, it's all been pleasing to Colonel Gran, who has decided that Kimbley deserves a commendation. An assembly has been called for that afternoon, and the soldiers are ordered to don their cleanest clothing, polish their boots, and make sure brass badges and buckles shine.

It's a rather ludicrous request, given their environment, but Riza knows it's just another way the colonel maintains morale. An award ceremony offers a respite from the daily drudgery, and dressing for such an occasion almost makes her feel human.

She holsters her pistol and goes to find Major Mustang. He's waiting for her outside his tent, absently rubbing at his hands- a compulsive gesture most new soldiers pick up- and she takes in the pale cast of his skin and the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

"You need to be sleeping more, sir," she informs him bluntly.

"I tell him the same thing, Sergeant," says a voice from behind her. "It appears he doesn't listen to either of us."

She turns and immediately straightens to attention as a gray-haired colonel approaches. "Sir."

"Relax," he tells her with a kindly smile, then glances toward the major. "So this is your shadow, Flame. She's certainly been well-trained."

"Hawkeye, this is Doctor Marcoh," Mustang says, "he's in charge of alchemical research."

"Which means I spend too much of my time with books and testubes rather than people." Marcoh chuckles and reaches out to examine her bandaged arm. "Mustang told me you got a bullet graze. It's mending well?"

"Yes, sir," Riza answers, touched by his concern.

He releases her arm with an approving pat. "I applaud your protectiveness. You know your duties well."

She has a sneaking suspicion he's the reason Mustang hasn't said anything lately about the risks she takes to defend him, in which case she ought to thank him.

"I'll need you to come and assist me after this circus show of a ceremony is over, Flame," Marcoh comments as they walk toward the drill ground. He doesn't bother to mask his disgust when his gaze falls on Kimbley.

The Crimson Alchemist is standing on a munitions crate to address the crowd around him. "I say it's time we refocus our attention on the city!" he declares heatedly. "It's the last remaining stronghold in this area. It must be destroyed!"

A great many heads nod in agreement, but a young captain calls out, "If we rush to act, we'll not be successful!"

He ignores the dismissive laughter from Kimbley's supporters, and continues, "Major Armstrong and his men were sent to reinforce the barricade around the city days ago! I do not think they will allow the threat it poses to grow any larger."

"But that isn't the point!" Kimbley answers, gesturing wildly with his tattooed hands. "The city is a symbol, and as long as it stands it motivates the Ishbalans to keep on fighting. Crush it and we'll crush them!"

"Which is why they'll no doubt fight dearly to protect it," Doctor Marcoh interjects mildly. "I can't imagine that they haven't built up defenses and fortifications."

"Who cares if they have," someone in the crowd grumbles, to a chorus of agreements. "The city has been under siege for several weeks now. The enemy's got to be getting tired."

"Don't underestimate how far self-preservation will drive a person," Marcoh replies.

"Or faith, sir," Riza adds, because, after all, that's what this war is about.

Kimbley snorts derisively. "Faith. Day after day we slaughter them and they still cry out to their nonexistent god! I say we raze their city to the ground, and see what happens to their faith then!"

Many of the soldiers around him cheer, drowning out Marcoh's attempt to reply.

"He's too eager," Mustang mutters grimly. "It's like a contagion."

Riza nods. "I know, sir." But she isn't truly surprised by the scene. The war is turning them all savages, and Kimbley is calling to the ones who are sick of fighting it.

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Endnotes: My I'm starting off dark and angsty… There'll be a respite next chapter, and an appearance from an old friend… So stay tuned!

And to my reviewers:

**xeledhwenx**- I'll definitely keep updating, this is too much fun not to! I hope you keep reading!

**Flamara Cat Eyes**- You write me such nice reviews, that makes me happy! Will there be royai? We'll see!

**shetan83**- Another person who writes me nice reviews and keeps coming back! I'm really flattered. To answer your question, no, I've never served in the military. But my father did and my brother does, so I've picked up a few things over the years. The rest I get from having studied history (and isn't writing fic a brilliant way to use a college degree?) Cheers for noticing!


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: … Fluff?

Summary: Roy and Riza talk about home

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist still isn't mine…

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**Time: 1713 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, three months, five days**

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It has been exactly one year since Riza's deployment to Ishbal, and six months since her transfer to the front, and part of her is amazed that she's actually still alive.

Her bunkmates want her to celebrate the occasion; they've managed to smuggle in a bottle of whiskey, and offer to toast her, the military, and the whole damn desert. But, in the end, she leaves them to their merriment, and goes off to find Mustang to give her daily report.

She finds him sitting cross-legged in the shadow of the munitions building, smiling absently at a crumpled letter in his hands.

He glances up as she approaches, smile still in place- and it's odd, she thinks, because she hasn't seen him smile often.

She sits down beside him and waits for him to finish reading, then says, "I've come to give my report, sir."

"Can't be much," he answers, stretching out and leaning his back against the wall. "Everything's been so quiet lately."

"Yes, sir," she nods. "But our unit's doubled up on guard shifts along the perimeter, in case there should be any retaliation for Major Kimbley's work in the north."

"There won't be," Mustang answers, stifling a yawn. "No one left to retaliate- we'll be headed for the city soon." He holds up his letter. "An old friend sent this and told me I should share it."

"Are you sure you don't mind, sir?" She asks him dubiously. It's a common practice for soldiers to share the mail they get from home, but Mustang tends to be fairly private.

"I'm respecting the author's wishes," he answers, smirking. "Go ahead and read it."

She takes the offered letter and smoothes the many creases. The author is a Captain Hughes, an intelligence officer at Central Headquarters. _Dear Roy_, he begins, and she blurts out, "Your name is Roy."

Mustang shoots her a puzzled look, and then he laughs as the realization hits him. "Yes, my name's Roy. Funny, isn't it, to overlook such a simple detail, but-" He stops abruptly, frowning- "I don't know your name either. I'm sure I read it on your records, but I can't remember... What is it?"

She finds herself surprisingly reluctant to tell him. It's almost as if given names are too intimate- better that everyone remain a rank, a surname, or an alchemical title. But she decides it's only fair. "My name is Riza, sir."

"Riza," he repeats. "Riza Hawkeye... That's nice."

She smiles faintly and turns back to the letter. Captain Hughes has filled two pages with scribbled details about home, the weather, and his girlfriend- who is beautiful, and amazing, and knows how to cook, too! But between every cheerful line she can almost hear this man asking _Are you okay? Are you okay?_

"He must be a great friend, sir," she remarks.

"The best," Mustang agrees, staring out toward the west. "Sometimes I come out here, and I think the miles will just fall away, and I'll see him like he was when I left, jumping up and down like an idiot, and waving..." His voice trails off with a sigh.

"What were you like, sir?" she asks before she can think better of it. "Before this. At home?"

"A ladies man," he answers smoothly, and she stifles her laugh.

"What?" He demands with mock indignation. "I didn't always look like something the dog dragged out of the garbage." More seriously, he adds, "Really, Hawkeye, I was the type of guy you probably hated."

Memories of fancy parties, and first dates, and gossiping friends come flooding back to her. "I wouldn't be so sure, sir," she informs him. "I used to be a silly girl."

"Were you?" He asks thoughtfully. "I wouldn't ever think so."

They lapse into a companionable silence, listening to the noises of the camp all around them. Somewhere nearby, someone is singing, an old song Riza can remember from her childhood. Quietly, she hums along, thinking of home, and the carefree days she can never really go back to.

"'s pretty," Mustang mumbles after the second chorus, and, glancing at him, she notices his eyes are closed.

"This patch of sand's not the safest place to take a nap, sir," she teases gently.

"Mmhm," he agrees sleepily, "but I know you'll stand guard."

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Endnotes: Wasn't that cute? Doesn't it deserve a review? Hehehehe... I got the idea from Christmas a few years ago. My brother came home with a few of his army buddies, and when he was introducing them to us, he couldn't remember any of their first names. Mostly, everyone's called by rank or last name, so he just never learned.

And to my reviewers:

**Raiyne Nagakura**- Hey, you reviewed the fourth chapter, so I'm happy! I'm glad you like my portrayal of Roy, I was kinda worried it wouldn't go over well… but this's how I see him at this point in his life. It's been my observation that cockiness is a luxury of rank.

**seto'sgal29**- I'll try to! Keep reading and reviewing, it totally makes my day!

**Armandsgirl**- Or else! That's incentive to keep doing this then!

**hakubaikou-chan**- I'm a huge fan of the fics that you write, so it's always nice when you review mine!

Thanks a bunch, y'all!


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Well. It's a war.

Summary: The army makes a move

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist still isn't mine…

A/N: I log on, I see reviews, and I smile. Your notes are, of course, at the bottom, you guys, and thank you for taking the time to comment… So let's recap. Hawkeye's been looking out for Mustang, who's been adjusting to life in a warzone. Marcoh's been working on his research, but he's not quite hit the breakthrough. Kimbley's flushed the Ishbalans out of the north, and has been rallying support for an attack on the city… Something is about to give. Enjoy.

* * *

**Time: 0600 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, three months, twenty days**

**

* * *

**

Riza pulls on fresh socks and laces up her combat boots, watching Major Mustang out of the corner of her eye. He came to her tent about ten minutes ago, and has spent much of the time since pacing back and forth, waiting for her to finish preparing.

She's determined not to let his restlessness hurry her in any way. Colonel Gran is going to order the march on the Ishbalan city, and she intends to be ready for it.

"It's madness," Mustang explodes abruptly. "The city is still strong, despite what Kimbley thinks! And there are too many hiding places- dark alleys, high towers, and shadowy corners... Damn, if only they gave Marcoh more time!"

She shoves spare ammunition into her pockets and doesn't answer. She's heard other officers voicing similar opinions over the past few days- about the dangers of urban warfare, and the mysterious research Doctor Marcoh hasn't yet completed.

But, in the end, it's Major Kimbley who has Colonel Gran's ear, and Kimbley is all too excited to lead the attack.

She doesn't doubt it will be costly, but she can't help believing that they're going to prevail. That they can end the war. Colonel Gran believes it, and his confidence is a hard thing to ignore.

She picks up her pack and rifle. "Let's get out there, sir."

Mustang sighs and follows her out to the drill ground, where nearly every soldier in the camp is assembling- only a small detachment will remain behind.

Their march to the extreme front is audacious. They thunder across the sand in full formation, and the tired men and women who have been holding the lines take up a cheer. Kimbley leaps atop a pile of rubble, encouraging the frenzy with manic glee. It's all a show, a piece of psychological warfare, meant solely to frighten the waiting Ishbalans.

They storm into the city with the same exuberance, firing round after round into doors and windows, should the enemy be waiting inside.

It's wrong, Riza thinks, her muscles tensing; they should be meeting more resistance.

And then, all at once, the chaos breaks loose.

Groups of soldiers begin breaking into buildings, and as the doors are torn down, the buildings explode. Five great blasts take out entire companies, and their rigid formation collapses into panic.

The Ishbalans have laid traps in their own city, Riza realizes, with no time to contemplate the desperation of such an act.

Coughing, and half-blind, she stumbles through the commotion. Another soldier falls heavily against her, knocking her to the ground. She angrily shoves at his body, and her hands come away sticky with blood.

The Ishbalans are upon them now, crude bayonets affixed to their rifles, and she fights to hold them off as she regains her footing.

Mustang is shouting orders to the scattering forces. She can't see him for all the smoke, but she makes a dash in the direction of his voice, raising her own to echo his commands. She finds him, and together they manage to rally a defensible line, but their advance has been indefinitely halted.

She crouches down to reload her rifle, working with expert haste, and then resumes a firing position. The Ishbalans are targeting Mustang and she's determined to protect him.

The soldier beside her, a young kid named Tapper, takes a bullet in the eye and goes down screaming. A grim-faced captain puts his pistol to the boy's head, and she turns away from the killing shot, forcing herself not to think about it.

Mustang has one hand over his mouth and nose, and his eyes are watering from the bad air, but he's still fighting. "Conserve your ammunition!" He yells when he has breath enough. "Alternating rounds! And hold your positions!"

"No!" Shrieks Kimbley, springing forward from the far left. "Charge the bastards! Charge! We'll kill them all!" He presses his hands against one of the advancing Ishbalans, and the man's body bursts in a torrent of blood.

"Kimbley! No!" Mustang shouts, but it's too late. The Crimson Alchemist's troops start rushing from the lines, and Mustang has no choice but order the rest to follow.

The enemy is waiting for them when they do.

* * *

Endnotes: Well. They're sure in a nasty mess now, aren't they? If this were television, there'd be ominous music and a fade to black… Anyways, stay tuned for the next chapter!

And to my reviewers:

**Camille**- You like me! You really like me! Heehee. I hope you stay tuned!

**Raiyne Nagakura**- Nice to hear from you again… Does/did your brother go to Annapolis? Because mine went to the Point, so we might have a bit of an Army-Navy clash here, hehe… Anyways, Riza strikes me such a model of military discipline that it's interesting to think that she may have been different once- it underscores the idea that experience changes a person. I see her as someone who immerses herself in her training in order to survive, and, in doing so, becomes a very different young woman than she was at home. Roy, on the other hand, holds onto his old identity in a lot of ways, for fear the military will turn him into someone he doesn't want to become. Someone like Kimbley, perhaps. I think it's particularly true after the war… I hope you keep reviewing, it's fun to talk about the process behind this stuff!

**Sangi**- I'll keep updating quickly, promise. I like getting peoples' reactions soon as I can!

**Sweet Vixxen of love9**- Slow, eh? Well, I'm glad you kept reading, and got hooked, then!

**saffiremoon21**- Dude, you rock, you gave me a ton of reviews! That's so cool! Uhm… yeah, you must really hate Kimbley after reading this chapter, heh… But I guess that means I've accomplished something in my portrayal of him, so yay for that... When I envisioned this conflict, I saw him as being largely responsible for its escalation. He's crazy, for sure, but he's charismatic, and- given his rank- he's hard to defy in a world that's built on rigid hierarchy. It's that abuse of power that makes him even more loathsome.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Violence, drug use (not what you think)

Summary: The army suffers for Kimbley's arrogance

Disclaimer: Seriously, how many things would explode in FMA if it were mine? Let's just leave it with the people who actually own it.

A/N: Reviewers, thanks SO much, you know where to find my comments… So I've left our merry band in a bit of a predicament, haven't I? As the saying goes, pride comes before the fall… What in the world will happen now? Read on, enjoy.

* * *

**Time: 0232 Hours**

**Location: Extreme Front, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, three months, twenty-five days**

**

* * *

**

Riza cringes as bullets imbed themselves in the crumbling wall she's using for cover. Around her, soldiers moan in terror; some of them are even praying.

For five wretched, merciless days they've been pinned down in the ruins of the city, and somehow- impossibly- the Ishbalans keep coming. Advance, retreat, advance, retreat... Working in shifts, harrying them with gunfire.

There is no rest, and there is no reprieve.

The soldiers resort to taking amphetamines in order to stay awake, but Riza doesn't know how much longer they can last. The human body isn't designed to take such pressure, and sooner or later they'll all crash down from the artificial high.

Already, some of them are beginning to crack. Men lay curled up on the ground in tears; others have panicked and run screaming from the lines, only to be gunned down by the waiting Ishbalans.

They're paying dearly for their arrogance. A third of their force has been killed-possibly more.

Riza prays for Colonel Gran to send the waiting units from the camp to aid them, but the hours drag by, and nobody comes.

The air has grown thick and barely breathable, reeking of ash and rotting corpses. Mustang and Kimbley can scarcely use their alchemy for fear of making it worse, though at this point, both are hurt and exhausted anyway.

Kimbley's taken a blow to the head. At least it keeps him from screaming.

Mustang is sitting beside her, shaking from stimulants and the cold of the desert night. Two days into the stand-off, he carved his arrays into his hands, to replace his torn and blood-soaked gloves. The gashes are deep and inflamed with infection; she isn't sure if he can use them anymore.

She isn't even sure she can use her own hands; they're trembling so badly from the amphetamine high. She presses them to her aching eyes, making sparks dance at the edge of her vision.

A bullet catches a nearby soldier in the chest; he lays on the ground, bleeding to death, but no one dares move to help him in the hail of gunfire. All they can do is listen as his cries for help- his pleas that he has a family at home- turn into gurgles as the blood fills his lungs.

Riza's grip tightens convulsively on her rifle.

"Can you still shoot?" Mustang asks her hoarsely.

She grits her teeth and nods. "If I have to, sir."

"Well, damn, Hawkeye, it's a warzone! I think you might have to!" He crumbles into hysterical laughter, burying his face in her shoulder. He's never been on the amphetamines before, and they're affecting him badly.

"Quiet, sir," she whispers, trying to soothe him, even as she fights down her own rising panic.

He looks skittish enough to bolt, so she wraps her arms around him to keep him still. Bullets continue to fly just over their heads, and she can feel the Ishbalans advancing ever nearer.

They're going to die, she realizes. The enemy is almost upon them.

But then someone cries out, "Reinforcements! Reinforcements from the camp!"

Swarms of fresh soldiers rush to their aid, driving the Ishbalans back, and Riza nearly cries in relief.

There is a horrendous cracking sound, and an alchemical flash that practically blinds her. When her vision clears, she sees Doctor Marcoh, pale but composed, in the midst of the rescue team. His hand is enveloped in a strange red glow- she wonders if she's imaging it- and he bellows, "Get out now! Hurry!"

Hands reach down and pull her and Mustang to their feet, and- together with their comrades- they run through the city. With every step, her mind shrieks, _You're still alive! You're still alive!_

As they break out into the desert, several soldiers drop to their knees, sobbing for joy. Others begin cheering, though their voices are raw.

Colonel Gran is watching when they stagger into the camp, a ghastly mockery of the force that marched out. His jaw is trembling, with rage and disbelief, and all he can say is, "They will pay."

* * *

Endnotes: Aaaaand Marcoh's research turns the tide… Oh yeah, you know what's coming next… So how on earth did I come up with this battle sequence? Well, at the time when the series takes place, the FMA world parallels the 1920's/30's, so I figure the war in Ishbal parallels World War I. That's where I get the arrogant formation marches, the gory bloodshed, the use of amphetamines, etc... And as for the notion that an inferior force- with limited firepower and training- can manage to pin down the big bad military, there are examples throughout history of "the underdogs" winning seemingly impossibly battles. In this case, the inspiration comes mostly from watching _Black Hawk Down_, because it's urban warfare and it's ugly.

And to my reviewers:

**saffiremoon21**- So I didn't kill Kimbley, but I bashed him in the head… You're right, he can't hold a candle to Roy. Roy's the man… a little strung out in this chapter, but still the man.

**Flamara Cat Eyes**- Well, I'm glad my story's made you consider it! To me, it's really interesting, because it gives me a way to look at how these characters developed.

**Camille**- Awesome! Keep reading, and keep reviewing!

**Flava Sava**- I hope this update didn't disappoint, and that you liked my little explanation of how those battle scenes get formed.

**Imperial Jedi**- Yay, I'm so glad to hear that! I try to be as real as I can, so I'm glad it's working. Hopefully my dialogue's believable, too, 'cause next chapter's full of it.

**Zamnandi**- I was hoping you'd review, since you say such nice things on all my other works. My dad was an LTC, too, before he retired, but I get most of my technical details from my brother, 'cause he likes to tell stories about training and stuff… I'm glad I'm managing to be fairly accurate. Again, I definitely try to.

Thanks so much, everyone, for reading and reviewing. It means a lot to me that you take the time!


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst

Summary: The red stones are revealed

Disclaimer: It's not mine.

* * *

**Time: 1806 Hours**

**Location: Millitary Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, three months, twenty-seven days**

The amphetamines wear off, the stress bleeds out, and functionality returns to the survivors of the battle. With it comes a grim determination:

The war must end.

Colonel Gran gives a grand speech to the whole camp, hailing Doctor Marcoh for creating a new weapon, a powerful weapon. He tells them how it delivered them from the city, and how it will be used to avenge the deaths of their comrades.

And no one disputes that declaration.

A simple red stone, set into a ring, is given to each alchemist, and Riza watches, breathless, as Major Mustang steps forward. His uniform is fresh and his scarred hands hidden by a new pair of white gloves. He looks like an image from a recruitment poster- no one can tear their eyes away from him.

Calmly, he raises a hand and snaps.

It's as if the sky explodes.

Riza drops to the ground, as do most of the soldiers present, for fear of the blast. She's never before seen such a raw demonstration of power- it's almost unbelievable. The cheers for Mustang are deafening, laced with curses on all the Ishbalan people.

"No mercy!" Colonel Gran shouts viciously. "We'll make them beg! We'll make them all beg!"

The cheers grow ever louder, and, caught up in the fervor, Riza joins in. They're going to end the war, she thinks; they're going to win, and the Ishbalans will never dare oppose them again.

She raises her rifle in a jaunty salute, and Mustang waves back to her, face flushed with triumph. But her gaze falls on Doctor Marcoh, swarmed by soldiers trying to shake his hand, and she wonders, as she watches, why he alone is not cheering.

She shoulders her way through the crowd just in time to hear him imploring Colonel Gran, "Please, send only one alchemist! That's all that is needed."

But Gran merely laughs. "Don't lose your stomach now, Marcoh! This is your moment of glory! The Ishbalans will suffer for their resistance!"

"You'll slaughter them all!" Marcoh shouts desperately, and a swift blow sends him reeling.

Shocked into action, Riza springs forward, grabbing Marcoh's arms to keep him from falling. To her horror, Gran is rubbing his knuckles, ready to swing again, and the crowd only eggs him on.

"I need to get out of here," Marcoh says faintly. "Please, Sergeant..."

"Don't worry, sir, I've got you." She carefully guides him away from the mob.

"What have I done?" He groans, over and over. "What have I done?"

"Sir... We're finally going to end this war," she answers cautiously, troubled by his distress. "It'll be over so swiftly now that we have these weapons, and no more of us will have to die."

"It's not that simple," he tells her brokenly. "Everything has a price."

"But maybe this is theirs," she argues. "Maybe Gran's right and they should pay for-"

"No!" Marcoh interrupts her. "Human lives cannot be exchanged like chemical components! Surely, you must understand that!"

And she does, deep down, but all she can say is, "This has to happen, sir."

"Yes, I suppose it does." He straightens slowly and scrubs at his face. "Watch what happens, then, Sergeant Hawkeye. Bear witness to our vengeance."

* * *

Endnotes: Yep. Once again Marcoh tries to be the voice of reason, and once again he's shouted down... Apologies to the Roy fans- he didn't get much face time in this chapter- but don't worry, he'll be back in the next one. And I think you know what he'll be up to... Get ready for the angst!

And to my reviewers:

**saffiremoon21**- You're so awesome for coming back and continuing to review! And yes, I imagine that blow to the head hurt Kimbley quite a bit, heh

**Flamara Cat Eyes**- Another repeat customer! I guess it is kinda morbid to praise the greatness of my gory angst… but, hey, I'm not complaining!

**Imperial Jedi**- Yay! Well, I hope you enjoyed it!

**HotPink89**- Pink is a fabulous color… I'm glad you like my story!

Thanks all! Please keep reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst

Summary: Riza watches the massacre

Disclaimer: It's not mine.

* * *

**Time: 0043 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, three months, twenty-eight days**

**

* * *

**

The alchemists lay waste to Ishbal.

For hours, Riza stands at the perimeter, watching the distant flames twist and writhe into an ever-growing cloud of smoke.

Mustang is among the first to return, carried between two of his fellows with his arms slung over their shoulders. "I did it, Hawkeye," he mumbles as she approaches, "whole blocks of the city... one snap…"

"I know, sir," she says briskly, checking for signs of injury on his soot-covered body. Finding none, she leads the men carrying him to his tent, where they lay him down, looking almost reverent.

"I'll be damned," one swears softly, "I've never seen that kind of power..."

The other nods in agreement. "They'll want to pin medals on him after this."

Riza salutes and watches them leave, trying not to think about what they must have seen in the alchemical barrage.

"Don't want medals," Mustang mutters abruptly, and she jumps- she'd thought he was unconscious.

"You should get some rest, sir," she tells him, kneeling at his side. She takes his hands so she can pull his gloves off, noting- without surprise- that someone's already removed his ring.

"I burned it all," he announces almost dreamily. "Children, women, didn't matter... They all screamed."

"You're beginning to sound like Major Kimbley, sir," she says dryly, covering him with a blanket. She doesn't want to think about what he's telling her, and doesn't want him thinking about it either- not in this exhausted state.

"Kimbley's still out there," he comments, rolling onto his stomach. His next words come out muffled by his pillow. "Would be, too, but... takes a lot of energy... blast after blast..."

"Just go to sleep, sir," she bids him gently, rubbing his back in slow circles.

"I'll only dream about it," he answers, and she feels him shudder. "All of that screaming..."

But eventually he drifts off, muscles relaxing beneath her touch, and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Not twenty minutes later, though, the tent flap is ripped side and Colonel Gran comes storming in. "Get him up," he snarls roughly.

"But, sir," she starts to protest, "he just fe-"

"_Sergeant_," Gran cuts her off fiercely, "I'm indulging your blatant display of fraternization, but I will not tolerate my orders being questioned! Get him up!"

"Yes, sir," she whispers meekly, and regretfully shakes Mustang into wakefulness.

He groans and cracks his eyes open, expression one of sleepily confusion, until his gaze focuses on Gran. Immediately, he bolts to his feet, saying, "Colonel, sir. What can I do for you?"

"We have discovered a pair of traitors," Gran answers smugly. "I think that you should be the one to punish them, Flame. After all, you've become something of a hero today."

Mustang blanches, but he nods. "Of course, sir. After you." Over his shoulder, he adds, "Go on and get some rest, Hawkeye. I'll see you in the morning."


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Angst again… pretty standard by now, right?

Summary: Riza searches for Roy in the aftermath

Disclaimer: It's not mine.

* * *

**Time: 0530 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, three months, twenty-eight days**

**

* * *

**

Dawn ushers in a flurry of chaos.

As Riza walks through the camp in search of Major Mustang, she catches several snatches of alarming conversation.

Doctor Marcoh has vanished- Colonel Gran's labeled him a deserter.

Major Kimbley's been dragged from the camp in chains, sent back to Central to face court-martial for the murder of his own soldiers.

His Sergeant, Vachel, is among the dead, and Riza doesn't even want to think about the rumors surrounding the circumstances.

The Ishbalans have yet to surrender, but only a few hundred of them remain alive. There is no doubt they will be forced to give in.

But it's the talk about the traitors that stops her in her tracks.

"I heard it was these two doctors," she hears one young private saying to another, "caught giving aid to the Ishbalans. They dragged the bodies out of one of the supply sheds just a minute ago."

"Who shot them, soldier?" Riza demands sharply.

The boy starts. "Oh, ma'am, I didn't see y-"

"Who shot the doctors?" She repeats.

"The Flame Alchemist," he replies, and she breaks into a run.

She finds Mustang in the supply shed, slumped against the wall, reddened eyes fixed on a drying puddle of blood. She quickly takes in the broken glass and empty liquor bottle beside him.

"They didn't shoot back, Hawkeye," he informs her dully.

"Sir, they were traitors," she answers, crouching down and unscrewing the cap on her canteen.

"They were _doctors_," he snaps back heatedly, "and I shot them, Hawkeye! … But what do you care, you shoot people all the time."

She had intended to offer him a drink of water, but instead she angrily splashes him in the face. "And you torch them with alchemy, sir, or have you forgotten what else you did last night!"

His features go slack and he lets out a heavy sigh. "No, Hawkeye, I haven't forgotten." He tilts his head back so she can see a dark smudge beneath his chin. "Know what that's from?"

An icy knot twists in her stomach. "It's pistol grease, sir." She reaches out to wipe it away, to deny it.

He bats her hand back. "I thought I could make up for it… But I'm a coward as well as a monster. I couldn't pull the trigger."

"Sir, it wouldn't have-" She breaks off uncertainly, knowing her words are trite. "I'm glad you didn't do it, sir."

"Marcoh stopped me," he answers, shrugging. "He said I was only following orders... This whole war, that's the bottom line…. We followed orders."

"We did, sir," she agrees, thinking that's the new rationalization they have to cling to.

They followed orders. The war is going to end now.

"But-" Mustang looks at her, his dark eyes somber- "What does that say, then, about the people who gave them?"


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Deep thoughts on war and peace? Heh.

Summary: The war comes to an end.

Disclaimer: It's not mine, even after all of this storytelling. Sigh.

* * *

**Time: 1300 Hours**

**Location: Military Encampment, Ishbal**

**Duration of Conflict: Seven years, four months, eleven days**

**

* * *

**

The war ends without fanfare, on an unremarkable day, with the simple signing of a piece of paper.

The weary soldiers accept the news with relief, and trepidation, that they are finally going home.

Riza packs her equipment in a small gray duffle, the same bag she was carrying when she first arrived in Ishbal.

She used to think of time in terms of that day; there was the war, and there was everything before it. But now, in her mind, there is only the war. War before the alchemists came, and war after they arrived.

It's difficult to imagine that time will include peace again.

She finishes her packing and steps outside, slinging her rifle over her shoulder out of habit- she still can't accept the idea that she no longer needs to carry it.

She makes her way across camp to the munitions building, where, as she expects, she finds Major Mustang. He's sitting back on his elbows, staring out at the west, gloved hands absently tracing patterns in the sand.

There's been something strangely fragile about him since the night he used the red stone- like a fine crack, barely visible, but able to shatter an entire glass. It's not the rawness of inexperience, or the shock of immediate trauma. He's been through both, and now this is something different.

She wonders, as she sits down beside him, if she looks the same way.

"Still standing guard, aren't you, Hawkeye?" He asks.

"Still daydreaming in this damn patch of sand, aren't you, sir?" she shoots back.

He manages a brief chuckle. "I thought I'd enjoy it one last time before we depart for the rail station. Then, it's what? Three days to reach Central?"

"Something like that, sir," she agrees, anxious just thinking of it.

"Seems unreal," he says, squinting toward the horizon.

"And frightening, sir," Riza adds, somewhat sheepishly. "Which is silly after all that we've been through."

He shakes his head. "Not really. It's fear that the world will never understand what happened here, what we did... And it won't." He turns to look at her somberly. "That's the price we'll pay... Do you remember Marcoh said there'd be one?"

"Yes, sir," she answers, images of the kindly doctor flickering in her mind. Treasonous as it is, she hopes that they never find him.

"I wanted to go with him," Mustang admits quietly. "Then I thought about resigning my commission, washing my hands of all of it... I think a lot of men are going to, once we make it home." He lets out a noisy sigh. "But I can't do it, of course, not yet…. There are still some... things I should do."

She accepts that without surprise or question; whatever he's planning, she knows she can't stop him.

"What about you?" He asks, expression growing thoughtful. "You'll probably be promoted if stay in the service... Lieutenant Hawkeye. I think it suits you."

She shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know that I'd be a good officer, sir."

"No?" He smiles slightly. "I know you would."

* * *

Endnotes: Oh, yeah, right, like I'd end it there... There's still one more step to be taken. Stay tuned for the epilogue.

And to my reviewers:

**HotPink89**- I wrote all three chapters in one sitting, then broke them into parts, so I figured it was only fair to update them all at once… I feel bad for them, too, and I'm the one who wrote them into this predicament! Hehehe… I'm not very good at flashbacking in my stories, unfortunately, but- who knows- maybe down the line I'll have to write a story that takes a look even further into the past.

**Camille- **All of them are excellent? SCORE! I like to hear that!

**Flava Sava**- I have a thing about explaining the process, heh. It probably comes from teaching. I'm glad that you keep continuing to review; it's encouraging.

**Imperial Jedi**- I like your SN, huge Star Wars fan that I am… Anyways, I'm glad my "mob mentality" premise was believable! I had to tinker with these scenes a lot before I was happy with them. The action/adventure aspect of the story is dialed down in this chapter, but I hope you still enjoyed the read!

**xeledhwenx**- The best! That's SO cool of you to say! I'm very flattered! … It's all about being real; I'm glad that you appreciate it!


	12. Epilogue

Title: Guard and Witness

Warnings: Hughes, heh… He should come with a warning.

Summary: Peacetime and the beginnings of a plan

Disclaimer: It's not mine, even after all of this storytelling. Sigh.

* * *

Riza feels uncomfortable in civilian clothes, as if she's borrowing them from another person. And, in a way, she supposes she is.

Tough physical labor and a diet of field rations have hardened her body. Her old garments are ill-fitting, their colors too bright.

She pins the waistband of her skirt so that it won't slip off her hips, thinking it's the perfect metaphor for "unfit for civilian life."

Her parents suggest that she just stay in uniform, but a hundred washings won't get the blood and sulfur smell out of her fatigues, and she isn't ready to face the gleaming new set of badges on her dress blues.

Another fast track promotion. Her grandfather hasn't stopped bragging about it since she showed him the declaration.

She moves to her dresser to grab her hairbrush, and her eyes fall on a worn scrap of paper. It contains no note, and no signature- just an address, scribbled in bold pencil strokes.

Major Mustang- no, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, she corrects herself- pressed it into her hand at the rail station as they went their separate ways.

She wonders if she's really meant to make use of it, or if it's just the sort of courtesy thing people do when they say good-bye.

A part of her is afraid to use it, afraid of what she'll find if she knocks on his door.

But she can't stop thinking about what he said on the last day of the war, and she tells herself that, really, they should pay the price together.

The address leads her to small apartment building near Headquarters, and she makes her way down the shadowy hall to his door. She finds it and hesitates, trying to figure out what to say to him. Then- to her surprise- she hears muffled laughter coming from inside.

Curiously, she raps her knuckles against the doorframe.

"Who is it?" Comes a call from a cheery voice she doesn't recognize, followed quickly by a grumble from Mustang.

He comes to the door, looking tired and pale, and even thinner than she expected, but he's not the broken man that she feared he might be.

"Hawkeye!" He gasps, eyes widening with surprise. "I- you- you're... You're here."

She cannot keep from smiling. "It's good to see you well, sir."

A tall man wearing glasses comes up behind him, peering at her inquisitively. "Now who might this be? She's pretty. Not like my Gracia, but-"

"Hughes," Mustang cuts him off, "this is Sergeant Hawkeye."

"Lieutenant, sir," Riza corrects him.

He smirks triumphantly. "So you did take your commission. Congratulations, it's well deserved."

"As is your promotion, Lieutenant Colonel," she answers, noting the way his muscles tense at the use of his new title.

The other man, Hughes, clears his throat gently. "And as fun as this mutual flattery fest is, maybe you should invite the lady inside, Roy."

Mustang blinks and steps back. "Right, of course. Come on in, Hawkeye." He ushers her inside.

She expects the apartment to be cluttered and filthy, but instead it appears to have been recently cleaned. Stacks of old books have been piled in one corner, charts and graphs rolled up and stashed on their shelves.

The floors have been scrubbed, and smell of piney disinfectant.

She wonders what sort of mess has been cleared up and washed away, but Hughes catches her eye before she can ask, expression saying plainly that she doesn't want to know.

In an instant, the somber mien is replaced by broad smile, and he shoves a half-eaten apple pie toward her, saying, "Come on, have a slice! My girlfriend made it! She's so great!"

Something about his exuberance clicks in her memory. "I think I read one of your letters, sir."

"You sure did!" He agrees merrily. "Wasn't it fun?"

She can't help laughing. "It really was, sir."

"And now he's here forcing food into me," Mustang grumbles, snatching the pie and breaking a piece off with his fingers.

"Right, right, I'm forcing you to cram that in your mouth now." Hughes rolls his eyes. "You're starving. The only thing I've had to force into you is common sense."

Riza notices Mustang's jaw is a little purple and has to ask, "Did that involve a right hook, sir?"

Mustang brings a hand to his face self consciously, but Hughes only grins.

"She's a sharp one, Roy. I think that you need her."

"I really do," Mustang agrees, with a sincerity that makes her blush. "Hawkeye," he asks gravely, "if I told you I was going to the top, what would you say about it?"

Her eyes widen at the prospect, the implications soaring through her mind. Without hesitation, she answers, "I'd say I'll be standing guard the whole way, sir."

* * *

Endnotes: And I think we all know what happens next… I hope you all enjoyed reading this. Thank you SOOOOO MUCH to all of my reviewers for being so wonderful!... Now I'm off on vacation for a while. But don't forget about me! I'll be back with more stories in a few weeks!


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